


Ripped at Every Edge

by klaineanummel



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Badboy!Kurt, M/M, Secret Relationship, cheerio!Blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:08:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaineanummel/pseuds/klaineanummel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody can know, but that doesn’t make it any less real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripped at Every Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurtpuppet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurtpuppet/gifts).



> Well, here it is! My contribution to the todaydreambelievers fic gift exchange :D I wrote this for kurtpuppet, who prompted "cheerio!blaine and badboy!kurt AU they have a secret relationship because blaine doesn't want to hurt his status". I hope you enjoy, lovely <3 
> 
> A million and one thanks to my wonderful beta mailroomorder who betaed this super last minute because I just couldn't get my act together. You're literally amazing and I love you <3 
> 
> Also, thank you to the mods over at todaydreambelievers! Thanks for putting this all together and making it happen! You guys are awesome!
> 
> Title from "Colors" by Halsey

Kissing Kurt Hummel is so much better than Blaine ever imagined. And he’s imagined. A lot.

The tongue piercing is a big part of it. Not only does it feel wonderful against his own tongue, but it reminds Blaine that he shouldn’t be doing this. That he could lose everything he’s built over the past three years by doing this.

Mainly, though, it’s Kurt himself. Kurt likes to keep his hands on Blaine’s waist, squeezing as his lips move lazily against Blaine’s. They’re wide and strong, with almost permanently scabbed over and bruised knuckles and soft fingertips that dig into Blaine’s sides like he can’t get enough.

He tastes like coffee and cigarettes and something so distinctly _Kurt_ that Blaine can never quite place his finger on. He’s always trying to bring Blaine closer to him, even when they’re pressed so closely together that Blaine worries they might meld into one being. He whispers, “God, _Blaine_ ,” whenever Blaine nips at his bottom lip, and then kisses him even harder than before.

There is no doubt in Blaine’s mind that Kurt is the best kisser in the world, and he wishes he could tell everybody. He wants everybody to know, wants to scream it from the rooftops. _Kurt Hummel is my boyfriend and he is the best goddamn kisser in the world_.

The best part about kissing Kurt is that, while often his hands travel down to Blaine’s hips and ruck his shirt up, they don’t always. There’s no constant pressure to take the next step, no feeling like kissing is just a warm up for the real event. With Kurt, kissing is just as much the real event as anything that may follow. He doesn’t make Blaine feel like a means to an end, unlike many of the boys who came before him.

When he does ruck Blaine’s shirt up, though, it always sends a thrill of excitement down Blaine’s spine. It never takes Kurt long to peel his shirt from his body, always making sure to place it carefully at the edge of the bed, knowing Coach Sylvester will have Blaine’s head if anything happens to his uniform.

Blaine is always naked first, and Blaine knows it’s because of the uniform. As hot as Kurt finds it (and he’s told Blaine repeatedly that he finds it incredibly hot), he is also frustrated by it. He’s never said it out loud, insistent on keeping the façade that he doesn’t give a shit about anything or anyone, but Blaine can tell. He’s seen the way Kurt looks when he smiles at Blaine in the hallway and Blaine looks away. He’s felt the hard grip Kurt keeps on his hips when he fucks him after overhearing Blaine tell his friends for the thousandth time that nothing is happening between he and Kurt. He’s watched Kurt storm out after Blaine chastises him for giving him a visible hickey.

Some days Blaine hates the uniform, too. He wants everyone to know about Kurt. Wants them to know that he’s more important to him than every stupid football, hockey, or lacrosse player he’s ever dated combined. Wants to walk hand in hand down the hallway with his boyfriend proudly at his side. Wants to eat his lunch under the bleachers with Kurt and his friends, feet in Kurt’s lap, feeding him fries even though Kurt insists he isn’t hungry.

The thing is, Blaine needs his uniform, in the same way that Kurt needs his bruised knuckles and leather jacket. They’re shields, and while they work wonderfully separately they just don’t combine.

That doesn’t matter when they’re alone in one of their bedrooms, clothes coming off (or, sometimes, staying on), mouths and hands roaming. They strip themselves of their shields and lay bare for each other, unguarded, careless. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt as intimate with someone as he does with Kurt.

Nobody can know, but that doesn’t make it any less real. At least, not for Blaine.

**

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”

Blaine looks up from where his head rests on Kurt’s chest. Kurt’s fingers comb through his hair, gel-free after a shared shower. He hates his hair, but he loves feeling Kurt’s fingers in it, whether they’re pulling hard as Blaine goes down on him, or lovingly weaving through them as they are now.

He’s never showed anyone other than his family his natural hair. A broccoli head doesn’t exactly scream Head Cheerio.

“Like what?” he asks, shifting onto his stomach, resting his arms on Kurt’s belly and his chin on his arms.

“I don’t know. Anything. Something only I will know.”

Blaine presses his lips together. “I’m kind of an open book,” he admits. “Most people know almost everything about me.”

“ _Almost_ everything,” Kurt says, tugging a little at a stray curl. “Come on. There has to be something.”

Blaine thinks, and thinks. He wasn’t lying when he said he’s an open book. He always has been. The only thing he’s ever really kept a secret is…

“Well,” he says, cuddling closer to Kurt, “I’ve always had a huge crush on you.”

“Shut up,” Kurt says, sitting up slightly, jostling his position on Kurt’s chest. “No you haven’t.”

“Sure have,” Blaine says, smiling softly. “Ever since the first time you walked through the doors at McKinley.”

“Fuck off, there’s no way you already liked me then,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes. His hand stills in Blaine’s hair. “I looked a mess.”

“You looked different than anyone I knew,” Blaine says, thinking back on the first time he saw Kurt on his very first day of high school.

“Yeah, because I had two black eyes and a split lip,” Kurt replies. “There’s no way you were attracted to that.”

“I was curious about that,” Blaine says, tracing a small circle on Kurt’s skin. “I watched you all the time. It was actually borderline creepy, to be honest.”

“I think I would have noticed someone as hot as you staring at me all the time,” Kurt says, hand resuming its motions in Blaine’s hair.

“Well, I wasn’t hot back then,” Blaine rolls his eyes, thinking of how scrawny he was as a freshman. Why Coach Sylvester let him on the Cheerios when he looked like that is still a mystery to him.

“Neither was I, you loser. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Yeah, but you were… you know, rugged. Or whatever.”

Kurt hums quietly. “Really, now?”

Blaine nods, then rests his cheek on his hands, closing his eyes. “I used to imagine you pushing me up against the lockers in the boy’s change room and just… I don’t know, having your way with me. I would have let you do anything to me, basically at any point of my high school career.” He thinks for a second, then says, “Especially after those rumors about you and Adam Crawford started going around.”

“Those rumors were bullshit.”

Blaine cracks an eye open and lifts his head to look at Kurt. “Really?”

There’s a faint blush spreading across Kurt’s cheeks. “I mean… Fuck, you know what I mean. It wasn’t what it was made out to be.”

“So you didn’t lose your virginity by topping a guy who prided himself on being an exclusive top?”

Kurt pulls at Blaine’s hair lightly. “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t.” He sighs, trying to match his breaths to Kurt’s.

They fall into silence, and Blaine desperately wants to push the subject. He wants Kurt to give him something, _anything_. He understands that being reserved and mysterious is part of the bad boy image that Kurt likes to give off, but it feels like every time he brings up anything personal about Kurt he gets the same answer. “Why does it matter?”

And he always replies the same way.

It’s stupid. Kurt is totally entitled to keep his secrets to himself. It’s his prerogative. Still, it sucks that after almost seven months of hooking up and five months of dating he doesn’t know much more about Kurt than he did that first day of freshman year.

“What about you?” he asks, before he can lose his courage.

“What about me?”

Blaine shrugs. “Tell me something you haven’t told anybody else.”

Kurt doesn’t answer at first, though his fingers still in Blaine’s hair again.

“A lot of shit falls into that category,” is how he finally replies.

“So choose one,” Blaine says. “Come on, I told you mine.”

Kurt is silent again. Blaine waits, and waits, and waits, and waits.

He’s tired of waiting, ready to turn his head and tell Kurt that it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to tell him, but Kurt speaks, and so Blaine stays still.

“I was in a car crash two weeks before school started,” he says, his voice quieter than Blaine has ever heard it. “My mom was killed instantly. My dad almost died as well. My face looked like that because I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and I slammed into the seat in front of me, hard. I wasn’t injured that badly aside from that.”

Blaine looks up at Kurt, sees him looking away, fingers moving absently through his boyfriend’s hair. “Shit, Kurt.”

“It was almost four years ago,” Kurt replies, though the tightness in his voice makes Blaine think that he isn’t as over it as he wants Blaine to believe. “Honestly, I was lucky. I could have gone through the front window.”

“You lost your mom.”

“Yeah. That part sucked.”

“No kidding,” Blaine whispers.

Kurt twirls a curl around a finger. “Bet you wouldn’t have found me so rugged if you’d known at the time that I didn’t actually get in a fight with a street gang.”

“I don’t know,” Blaine says, raising a hand and placing it over Kurt’s free one, fingers running over the red marks that seem to be permanent fixtures on Kurt’s knuckles. “I did see you break a lunch tray over a jock’s head.”

Kurt purses his lips together, as if stopping a smile from appearing. “Yeah. He was talking shit about my dad. Said my face was fucked because my dad beat me.” He shakes his head, and the smile he was repressing before appears. “It felt really fucking good to do that.”

“Even though you got suspended?”

“Hell yes,” Kurt says, smirking. “I’m never going to regret doing that.”

 _I’m never going to regret you_ Blaine thinks, but doesn’t say, unsure if Kurt will believe him.

“Good,” he says instead. “Cause that guy was a douche and he deserved what he got.”

“Exactly,” Kurt says. He smiles down at Blaine, then tips Blaine’s chin up to place a soft kiss on his lips. “Is sharing time over now?”

Blaine kisses back, then pulls back and says, “You started it.”

“True. But I’m ready for it to be done now.” He kisses Blaine again, longer this time, more drawn out. Blaine sighs happily into it, pushing himself up higher until he’s face to face with Kurt. He straddles Kurt’s lap easily, brings his hands to Kurt’s shoulders and kisses him harder.

“I guess I’d be okay with that,” he whispers against Kurt’s lips.

Kurt growls and pull him closer.

**

School feels surreal the next day. He feels like he’s made such great progress with Kurt, like their relationship has deepened so much since their conversation. For the first time he feels like Kurt actually trusts him. It’s exhilarating.

Yet they’re still apart. Kurt still skulks through the halls, flanked by Mercedes Jones and Tina Cohen-Chang, all of them in leather jackets and ripped jeans, looking like walking, talking Fuck You’s. He watches as they walk past him, eyes briefly catching Kurt’s, then looks away before his friends can notice.

As soon as he’s out of this hell hole he’s telling everybody. The minute he has his diploma in hand he’s going to walk right up to Kurt and kiss him square on the mouth. Fuck everybody else and what they think.

Not yet, though. Right now he cares a lot – too much – about what everybody else things. He has to. The red and white polyester only keep him so safe; it’s his image that shields him as well. If people knew that he was hooking up with Kurt Hummel, the lowest of the low, the guy who skips class to smoke, who gets in fights every time someone so much as looks at him the wrong way, who has been seen by multiple people at school leaving the local gay bar with strangers (though not so much recently, or so the rumors go), he’d never hear the end of it. It would be all over for him. His shield would come crumbling down around him, and nothing would protect him from the harsh, cold, hard reality of being who he is where he is.

One day he won’t feel terrified of even mentioning Kurt’s name to his friends. One day he will walk hand in hand with the man he loves. One day he will meet somebody and very happily point Kurt out to them and say, “That’s my boyfriend.”

That day is not today, and it pains Blaine more than anything. He glances away from his friends, back to Kurt, and only just catches a brief glimpse of him as he rounds a corner, disappearing from view. The boy who told Blaine his best kept secret, who trusted him more than he’s trusted anyone before, now just another body in a crowded school hallway.

No, that day is not today, but that day is coming. And goddamn, Blaine cannot wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [ rebloggable on tumblr ](http://klaineanummel.tumblr.com/post/148748894545/ripped-at-every-edge)


End file.
